Poison, a Numb3rs AU
by paranoid woman
Summary: Summary: Sometimes what you love becomes a poison you can not quit. Warnings: Long AU. Slash, het, gen chapters. All ratings. Chapter 4 now up.
1. Run, Oswald, Run

**POISON**

_For the poison of hatred seated near the heart doubles the burden for the one who suffers the disease; he is burdened with his own sorrow, and groans on seeing another's happiness. __  
- _Aeschylus

**

Series: Poison  
Chapter 1: Run, Oswald, Run  
Characters/pairings: Oswald, OCs, ??  
Rating: T.  
Warnings: A bit of violence.  
Summary: Someone had to do the dirty job, and he gladly volunteered. Since he'd lost everything that meant something in his life, he was the most willing candidate.  
Betas: The awesome lillyg and the amazing twins_m0m.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or anything related to it.

***

**1 – Run, Oswald, Run**

Like in every old, rough building near Chinatown, there were no security cameras. But that didn't mean he wouldn't hide his face.

Focused, the man put down the bag that had been hanging from his shoulder and opened it. The lights of the corridors flickered but they were fine as long as justice could be done. The usual black cap and the dark scarf would make a fine mask. No would identify him.

He dragged both items out of the bag and put them on. Then his hand slid inside again to find the prospective murder weapon. A nice Beretta pistol. Gun stores that were in the right places – places where money and dignity didn't fall from the sky – sold them to anyone, no questions asked.

The bullets were already in place, but he checked them anyway. He could hear a man typing and listening to music inside. His name wasn't known, but the killer knew about his connections. They hadn't been easy to find. Criminals were careful. It was all about the _links_.

The murderer prepared himself to execute the plan. Many men had gone down the same path, but he was different. He had a real reason and he'd analyzed the issue deeply and carefully. He'd been inside the system; he knew how it worked. He knew that neither the L.A.P.D. nor the F.B.I. were enough.

Someone had to do the dirty job, and he gladly volunteered. Since he'd lost everything that meant something in his life, he was the most willing candidate.

He blinked a couple of times, taking deep breathes. One at a time. There was no rush. The guy had never left his apartment after getting home at nine o'clock. Two hours had passed by and he was still there. The victim was served on a silver plate.

The man pulled off the safety device.

Simple intent was about to end. Action for real peace was about to begin. Even if no one else supported the cause.

***

His fingers danced over the keyboard as his brain explored the most fantastic, obsessive equations. This was the best thing that had happened to him today. The old routine of going to the grocery store to buy some Twinkies and other food supplies wasn't exactly exciting.

Now, sitting at the desk and working on the perfect code was amazing. The more he typed, the more in control of the situation he felt. It wasn't like his job was hard. He could provide the numbers, he could come up with those statistics. The problem was the consuming expectation of the further events, the consequences of his work. But as long as he got paid, those reasons weren't important enough to make him drop the deal.

In front of him, against the wall, beyond the computer, the TV showed an old baseball game. Oswald had analyzed it backwards and forwards; he knew every home run, every move the players had made. It was everything he needed to concentrate and succeed, except for Samantha. Sam wasn't there, and he missed her touch.

"C'mon… C'mon…" he repeated to himself as the code he typed appeared on the screen. Tension built up more and more, forcing him to continue, pushing him to the limit…

His cell phone went off.

Oswald laid back in the chair, stretched his arms and rubbed his tired face. It was getting late and he should have finished the daily part of his job already. Stage 15, which was the last part of this code, should be done as soon as possible. He was expecting the phone call, but at the same time, he didn't know what excuses he was going to give.

"Hello," he shyly said, remembering that the woman on the other side of the line had authority over him and that he should be polite. She was his boss, she'd been the one who had contacted him and set him up to provide the code. She had even bought his phone.

"Hello… Are you alone?" There it was, the beautiful voice against Oswald's ear. Every time he heard it, he felt a pleasurable shiver running down his spine.

"As usual, yes."

She waited a bit before asking, "Are you done with Stage 15?"

He gulped. His fingers trembled a bit. "Almost… Maybe in a few more hours?" The silence that followed got him nervous. In a meaningless effort to calm down, he reached for the beer hidden in his desk. "Miss…?"

"We'll have to meet," she muttered.

Oswald jumped in his seat. Was she mad? He couldn't tell from the strange tone of her voice. "When? Because I can finish this sooner if you need me to. I'll work my ass off and…"

"Meet me at the Tribune Garden in ten minutes. I'll take you to a safe place."

That didn't seem to be good news. "A safe place?" Oswald repeated. "What…?"

"Do as I say. Get out of there. Now. Your cover's been blown up."

Without responding, Oswald closed his phone and messily took out the memory-stick from his laptop. As soon as he turned, looking for his bag, he heard a hard sound near him, coming from outside. It was the door; someone was hitting it without mercy.

Looking around, he felt almost blinded by adrenaline and fear, but he still spotted his bag on the bed and ran to grab it. Praying that whoever wanted to catch him wouldn't get to him before he was gone, he took the memory-stick, his laptop, his cell phone, a couple of bucks and his keys.

The door lock was going to be broken at any minute. There was no time to pick up anything else, so Oswald ran towards his apartment's window and got out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed as he looked down at his way out. The fire stairs were fine, but there were too many steps to get to the street.

His footsteps were loud as he ran downstairs, holding his bag tightly. He couldn't get caught, even if it'd be hard for the person outside his apartment to figure out what the code was about. He'd already sent out of the sexy voice the previous parts of his work, and even if the criminal got his memory stick, he wouldn't be able to do much with it. Still, it wouldn't be very smart to let it fall into the hands of a stranger.

Oswald lowered his head and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed his contact's number, the one with the beautiful voice, hoping she would set a closer place for their meeting. He probably wasn't gonna make it to the Tribute Garden.

She asked, "Where are you?"

"There's someone… following me! A man, I think! He broke into my apartment and… and he's shooting at me!" Oswald yelled, out of breath as he jumped on the street. It was hard to talk and run for his life at the same time.

"Of course he is, that's what I told you!" the woman told him. "Now get your ass here. Tribune Garden. Don't waste your breaths talking to me. I'll be waiting."

As he touched the ground, a shot hit the floor, almost reaching him. Oswald accidentally dropped his phone and quickly glanced back, finding a dark figure at his window pointing a gun at him. He didn't pick up the device. When the shots continued, he started to run again.

Soon another bullet almost got to him, which meant the man dressed in black was following down the streets. It passed very near his shoulder and went to die against a wall. Maybe he could use a short cut through Chinatown to get to the Tribune Garden, which wasn't too far away after all. He entered the shiny, colorful city and noticed that there was some kind of festivity going on, since so many people were on the streets wearing traditional clothes. Happy kids were even waving their windmills to their smiling parents, asking them to buy them some candy. Street sellers were showing their products to excited buyers.

No one would dare to use a gun in such a crowded place – or at least that's what Oswald thought. When he heard a new shot, people started screaming and running in all directions. He tried to cover himself behind a street seller's trolley, but he ended up sending all the food for sale to the floor. "Shit, I'm sorry!" he yelled at the poor woman who'd lost her merchandise, but she ignored him and threw herself on the floor, trying to protect herself.

The Tribune Garden was now only two blocks away. He could make it, he just had to get out of Chinatown and cross Leather Street…

As soon as he got there, the image of people with almost no clothes on walking around the corners didn't catch his attention. He didn't think about the kinky outfits some of them were wearing to cover their intimate body parts.

"Oswald, hi!" a woman wearing red leather dress told him. Samantha. They used to get together at least twice a week, but this wasn't a visit. Smiling, she licked her lips and reached for him as he passed by. "You can't take a break from me, can you?"

"Not exactly, Sam!" he informed her as he kept running. "Run!"

The bullets came too close. There were more screams and curses as the prostitutes tried to cover themselves. Oswald kept running towards the next street but when he heard a painful scream behind him, he glanced back. There she was – Samantha, with her red leather dress being stained with blood.

"No…" he muttered. His heart ached at her death, at the memory of all the great moments they'd spent together.

But the shots didn't stop and he had to keep running, wondering what these people would have to suffer for him and trying to figure out what the man who was following him was capable of doing. Feeling his ears burn, he went around the corner. The Tribune Garden was now only one block away…

He wasn't expecting someone to hit him and push him hard onto the cold street as soon as he passed the corner. Oswald felt the concrete hit his forehead but then things got dizzy around him, all sounds turned strange and slowly fading away.

The last thing he heard and saw was a blonde guy talking over a cell phone. "Got him," he was saying, while two big dudes grabbed Oswald by his arms and legs and brought him into something that looked like the inside of an SUV.

Oswald tried to call for help, but he couldn't scream. A second later, darkness submerged him.

***


	2. A Question of Politics

Series: Poison  
Chapter 2: A Question of Politics  
Characters/pairings: Jeff Upchurch, Amita, Charlie, Millie, Gary Walker  
Rating: T.  
Warnings: None.  
Summary: This guy, the Vigilante, had earned his title as one of the latest big fishes in L.A. He didn't kill for money, he didn't kill for praise. Apparently, he killed for justice.  
Betas: The awesome lillyg and the amazing twins_m0m.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or anything related to it.

***

**2 – A Question of Politics**

Lt. Jeff Upchurch took a look at the file again. He raised one eyebrow at the person that was seated at the other side of the table in the meeting room but repressed the ironic comment that wanted to escape his lips. He was LAPD, and LAPD was supposed to respond to the Mayor, no matter how strange his demands were.

"We're already working on this guy."

Mayor Gary Walker joined his palms and his chair moved slightly. "Not with much success, as we all know."

Jeff tried to ignore the punch. His people did the best they could. It wasn't like they were sitting on their asses waiting for this criminal to come out and shout his true identity to the world. "I assume you're trying to throw in some light," he said, waving the file the Mayor had given him. "This could give us a hand."

"Yes. If you know how to handle that information."

The tone of the Mayor's voice managed to upset Jeff again. Was he implying that they were idiots? God knew that the lieutenant would stand for his people. This guy, the Vigilante, had earned his title as one of the latest big fishes in L.A. He didn't kill for money, he didn't kill for praise. Apparently, he killed for justice.

"I've got a plan of action," the Mayor said.

"I'd like to hear it." It wasn't easy for Jeff to pretend he was willing to listen to a man who only had critiques towards the department. "Please, go ahead."

"I want a collaborative work between two investigation teams. One of them is yours, obviously."

"Aha…" Curious, Jeff leaned on the back of his chair, resting one hand on his chin.

"Look at the last page in the file."

Frowning, Jeff did as he'd been told. On the last page, he found two post-it notes with two lists of names. One of them didn't surprise him, since it made sense for that person to work on the Vigilante's issue. The other one triggered a question. "I understand one of your choices. Our guy, Charles Eppes, can bring some inspiration to the case. But the other one, Ramanujan? Why is it that you always choose to work with the same FBI team?"

His words didn't seem to amuse the Mayor. "Ramanujan's team assisted me during my campaign, providing me data on criminal statistics. Keep your eyes open, lieutenant. There are so many ugly, dirty things out there, in the most unexpected places. This particular FBI team can help you find them, believe me."

Jeff noticed the meaning in the Mayor's voice. The choice to call this particular FBI team when a big case came up was a matter of politics, as usual. "I'm going to call an extra team, just in case we…"

"No. You only need this one." The Mayor cleared his throat. "You understand, of course, that this is not official. This is just a… suggestion."

Suggestion, his ass. Jeff took a deep breath; he really hated that power positions had the right to arrange other people's lives the way they wanted.

The Mayor leaned over the desk. "Lieutenant, where have you worked?"

"Afghanistan, Europe,…but mostly, Guadalajara, Mexico."

"Right. In all those places, you were the one who made the big decisions. Then you came back to L.A. Here… things are slightly different. Am I clear?"

Jeff's lips tensed. Getting up, he picked up the file with the Vigilante's newest information and the team members' names. "You're the one who calls the shots, sir," he admitted.

Visibly satisfied, the other man nodded and gestured him goodbye. As he left the meeting room, Jeff got the feeling that something was wrong. There was definitely an intention from the highest powers to shape and guide LAPD's work on the Vigilante's case through the FBI team.

He wondered what the politician's final goal was besides catching the Vigilante, since his strategy was pretty interesting. Always the same reason, _politics_ - and always the same team.

***

They'd been waiting for ten minutes already at this office, and it was well known Lt. Upchurch was never late. Amita checked her BlackBerry and noticed that several messages were coming in, as things at the FBI had become complicated lately. Besides all the relevant cases they were already facing, the Mayor had suggested a collaborative work with LAPD, which wasn't really a big surprise.

As the officers and investigators worked outside, Charlie kept an eye on Millie's laptop, She was typing data into the system on her desk beside Upchurch's as they all waited for the lieutenant to arrive. Detectives Eppes and Finch were very trust-worthy leaders. Amita just hoped things wouldn't get ugly when the power struggles inevitably started.

"Amita," Charlie muttered," beckoning Millie's laptop so she would get closer to them and see what they were analyzing. He pointed at traces of data in the screen and muttered suggestions to Millie, who nodded and entered new commands into the search database. "Aha… I see. Of course, that's an interesting progression," he said, going towards the map that was on the wall near them. It was marked with dots, which were next to pictures and names. Lines in red, white and blue explained different types of links between the involved subjects.

"A link map. We have one at the FBI, too. I'm glad we're on the same page," Amita said, remembering that she and Charlie shared a strange love for structure. "How much do you have on this guy?"

She was about to get her explanation when Lt. Upchurch came towards them and shook her hand. He nodded at Charlie and Millie and said, "All right…As you know, the Mayor has suggested that we work together on the Vigilante's case. We gotta move fast. This guy doesn't take any vacation."

As she got up, Millie explained, "The amount of murders has increased heavily in the last two weeks. We've finally detected a very active area and we are just making the final arrangements to see the results."

Amita followed her gaze and started analyzing the link map more deeply. There was a zone that had the most important amount of dots and lines in different colors. "There's a hot sport near Leather Street."

"Doesn't surprise me," Upchurch commented, getting closer to the map so he could take a better look at the references. "He's been in proximate streets, so it was only matter of time for this guy to go around the corner."

"We thought about that, too. According to our analysis, About 68% of the most wanted criminals in the city visit the street for sex, drugs and business. I can see the temptation of taking down several skunks... Any visuals?"

"None," Millie responded, as she was carefully following the conversation from the side as she kept checking her laptop from time to time.

"Always dressed in black," Charlie added, looking a bit frustrated. Amita knew that expression well. "He doesn't make much of a mess, he's very clean. He does what he's come to do and disappears, that's his M.O. He's been reported to wear a dark cap and a scarf. That's all we've got."

"A Justice Paladin that kills to push some order into the chaos of the L.A. streets. How poetic," Millie said, shaking her head.

Upchurch went to check her computer, too. He didn't say anything about what he saw; he probably didn't understand, as math wasn't his area. "The son of a bitch is meticulous and focused. All of his victims are instigators of criminal activities. He doesn't kill for fun."

The obvious conclusion clicked in Amita's mind. "So it's possible that he's going for the head of someone who's related to Leather Street." There were many names coming to her at the moment, but one seemed to be the most important target. "D.S. Cowboy. Who wouldn't go after the leader, the owner of that sinful territory?" she asked, following Millie's irony on the case.

The lieutenant was about to respond when his cell phone vibrated and he picked up the call. "Upchurch…" He frowned. "Okay. We'll be there in ten." He immediately closed his phone and explained, "New murder."

Amita's phone started to ring right away, and when she answered, the same news was given to her. "Dwayne, what is it?"

Dwayne Carter's voice sounded confident and calm. Just like when he was at the crime scenes, talking to Forensics about missing body parts during the most horrifying cases. Amita's partner was really good at his job. "We've got a murder in Chinatown. I'm at the crime scene. Preliminary analysis suggests it was the Vigilante."

"All right. I'll be there with LAPD," she responded and hung up.

In the meantime, Millie was mentioning a particular address. Charlie immediately grabbed a red pin and posted it on the link map. It matched the other ones in the board perfectly. It was in Chinatown, like Dwayne had said, only a few blocks away from Leather Street. The Vigilante was slowly moving towards that direction so he could get his hands on the famous pimp D.S. Cowboy, who no one dared to touch due to his multiple political connections.

"I've already sent my people to the crime scene," Upchurch announced.

"We have, too," Amita responded.

Charlie went to grab his jacket. "Millie, are you coming?" When Millie shook her head and went to sit down at her desk with her laptop again, he took one last look at the link map. "Let's go." He turned around but Upchurch placed a hand on his shoulder, inviting him to stay behind for a moment to talk about something private.

To give them some space, Amita decided to go towards the door and wait for them there. But as she went out, something caught her attention. Lt. Upchurch was whispering something into the detective's ear and for a moment, Charlie's eyes had landed on her.

Amita read Upchurch's lips to figure out his last words. "Eppes… don't let me down." She saw determination in Charlie's eyes as they passed her by. And when the lieutenant glanced at her too, she was sure he had something against her.

She hated secrets during cases like these.

***


	3. Financial Aid

Series: Poison  
Chapter 3: Financial Aid  
Characters/pairings: Don, Liz, David  
Rating: T.  
Warnings: Mention of drug use.  
Summary: He was done. He'd have to quit and admit that all the years he'd spent as an L.A.P.D. officer had served him for nothing.  
Betas: The awesome lillyg and the amazing twins_m0m.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or anything related to it.

***

**3 – Financial Aid**

_The system is corrupted and I can't even solve a fucking background investigation. _

Don hit the desk with anger, unable to restrain his emotions anymore. The entire day had been pure shit. Five hours of unsuccessful surveillance, files that didn't hold any relevant information and absolute lack of results were going to mean a very disappointed client that wouldn't be coming back.

Being a P.I. should be easy in a city like L.A., where law sues required trustworthy data and divorce investigations needed incriminating pictures. Crime was increasing minute after minute, so there should be a lot of work out there. Yet, Don couldn't even find a single thing to point out a suspect of fraud.

He was done. He'd have to quit and admit that all the years he'd spent as an L.A.P.D. officer had served him for nothing.

Tired, he ran one hand over his face. The laptop made a strange sound, and the desk and the chair seemed unsteady. The door bell suddenly rang, but he didn't look up. He noticed the chair on the other side of the desk moving and someone sitting down. He'd have to find the right words to tell the client that he hadn't been able to do the job.

"You won't say no to this, Eppes," a deep, male voice said.

Don looked up immediately and frowned. The black man that was in front of him was wearing an Armani and shades, even if it was dark out there. Don was sure he had some backup guy waiting for him outside in case things got ugly.

D.S. Cowboy was right there, but Don knew he couldn't touch him. No one dared to put a hand on him because of his fucking connections. He was a pimp that pretty much owned an entire street where he got his people trading fine, exotic, even public sex for favors, drugs, money and information.

"You really think that?" Don asked, reading the other man's intentions.

"Well, I've been told you're… smart."

They locked eyes. Don licked his lips as he tried to choose a strategy.

"David Sinclair… Publicly known as D.S. Cowboy."

"I know who you are. What do you want with me?"

D.S. slid a briefcase on the table. He opened it, took out a file and offered it to him. "I might have a job for you, eventually. It should be easy and it shouldn't cause you any trouble. I'm sure once you get your hands on it, you won't refuse."

So he was suggesting Don to get involved in the dark corners of his business. Hell, no. "I don't think so."

"Why don't you take a look?" D.S. muttered, showing Don the content of the briefcase. Inside, there were piles of rolls of U.S. dollars. They were perfectly flattened and arranged so that they wouldn't fall out by mistake.

Don look at it and leaned back on the chair. "And you're trying to buy me with dirty money. That's funny."

The other man had a crooked smile on his face. "Ah, don't say it like that. Let's just call it… 'financial aid.' Sounds better, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't change the fact of who you are and…"

"Listen," D.S. said, leaning over the table. "I'm aware of your situation, Eppes. I know that your work ethic wouldn't let you take this, but you're also out of luck. This damn place has been empty for days now, except for one lousy client that probably won't even give you five bucks for the terrible job you've done." He paused for a moment. "You're going bankrupt, honey."

It was very uncomfortable and humiliating that D.S. called him "honey" and that his words were all true. Don didn't respond and let him continue.

"I know about the mortgage on this place, this office you call now 'home.' I also know that you haven't had any real income these last few weeks. Do yourself a favor and take this," the man demanded, placing his hand on the open briefcase, "and do me a favor in return."

The speech shouldn't have been so convincing, but D.S. had raised some issues that Don had avoided to deal with. The mortgage. The future lose of his office. The lack of clients. The end of his career, whatever that meant. He couldn't let himself fail like this.

"What I want you to do is very simple," D.S. Cowboy explained. "Catch the Vigilante for me. He's been making trouble in my area and I don't like that. I want him out of here. I know that your brother's still L.A.P.D. and that he's just taken the case, along with the FBI. Help him."

It wasn't that bad. What D.S. Cowboy was suggesting wasn't out of line, especially considering Don's work and his brother's. A little help wouldn't hurt, so his hand reached out and ran over the money. He took out one roll and examined it closely, flipping the bills and smelling their particular scent. He took a breath and carefully left it on the table. Then his eyes met the pimp's.

"Do we have an arrangement?" the man asked.

It was hard for Don to admit it, but considering the situation, there was nothing Don could do but agree; his job, his entire life was on the line. "We do."

"Good." Looking satisfied, D.S. got up, straightened the laps of his suit and smiled. "I'll see you around. Me or my boys." He turned around, went towards the door, opened it and left.

Once alone, Don stared at the money inside the briefcase and wondered how much it'd be. He started counting the piles and then he started taking out the rolls of one of them so he could make a final estimate.

The image of his hands touching dirty money nauseated him. He couldn't do this. This wasn't Donald Eppes, no matter how desperate he was. His honor was first and he wouldn't give that up. Between the curtains, he could see the light of a car. He ran outside, telling himself he'd have to reject the job, no matter what the consequences were. Telling himself that he'd just made a terrible mistake.

It was too late. D.S. and his crew were gone. The deal had been closed.

Don closed his jacket and folded his arms. It was a bit cold outside. The street was calm, only a few people were walking by. Don turned to one corner and saw a couple kissing. The idea of finding comfort in his woman's arms seemed very attractive right now, but when he turned to the left, all his hope turned into darkness.

There came the future unsatisfied client. This woman would complain about the lack of background data on her husband's fraud and would refuse to pay. He welcomed her quickly and tried to do his best at giving her the bad news.

***

She splashed her face on water again and contemplated herself on the mirror of Don's little bathroom. She looked like hell and she'd have to pray her boss not to notice.

Liz didn't know what the hell she was doing. Pretending she was fine didn't seem like much of an option anymore. If Don didn't know what was going on with her already, he'd find out very soon. Who could miss the symptoms? Some of them were in front of everyone's eyes. She barely ate anything all day. Whatever she took, she ended up in the bathroom, throwing up. She couldn't sleep, so she spent most of the day like a lethargic human trash, not being able to follow a single street map. Sometimes she panicked and screamed for no reason. There were times in which she couldn't stop sweating.

This was one of those times. Liz grabbed a towel, damped it and passed it over her face; it was still too hot. Trembling, she took off her shirt and grabbed the sink, trying to find her balance. The silence around her managed to calm her down. There were no noises. Don was acting very weird today. Usually, he cursed and talked with money lenders over the phone. If he wanted to keep the business up and running, he needed financial backup.

It was a mystery why he'd been so different lately. Had he given up? Taking one last deep breath, Liz decided that she had to intervene and find out what was going on. She liked Don very much. Maybe she could help him keep the place where they both worked.

After taking out a fresh shirt from her bag and putting it on, she ran the damped towel over her face again, put some make-up on and arranged her hair. Then she opened the bathroom door and walked down the little corridor towards the main office, but once she got there, she stopped in her tracks and tried not to be seen.

There was a man seated at Don's desk, and he was announcing himself. She immediately recognized his face._ D.S. Cowboy. What the hell is that guy doing here? What does he want from the Eppes Private Investigations office?_

She listened to the entire conversation between D.S. and her boss. First Don doubted, but when his fingers traced the money, Liz knew that he'd given in to temptation. However, she found herself hypnotized by the green rolls. They were just so beautiful and so full of promises.

Financial Aid, they'd call it. D.S. had used very convincing arguments – the mortgage, the bankrupt, the lack of clients. Considering the circumstances, it didn't surprise Liz that Don ended up saying that they had a deal. It was a really bad idea to take money from a criminal but catching the Vigilante wasn't.

Soon D.S. was gone and apparently taking off with who he called "his boys." She wondered who those people would be, his personal bodyguards or his friends. She watched Don run towards the door, leaving the briefcase full of money on the desk and without thinking, she concentrated on them. They were calling her through all her senses, and she couldn't fight the desire to get closer to them.

Sweat was coming back, but she couldn't get away from the dollars. She reached out and took out a role, spreading the bills between her palms. Having them in her hands felt so amazing. She could buy so much with it… so many fixes. The money was there and it smelled so very fucking good.

"Liz," Don's voice came out behind her, startling her. The bills fell from her hands and onto the table, some of then going to rest on the carpet. "What are you…?" She didn't move and when he approached her, he placed one hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear. "We've got an unsatisfied client. Take all this away from here."

Immediately, she nodded and started picking up the bills. In less than a minute, she collected them all and closed the briefcase. Don welcomed the client, a somewhat disturbing woman that had a fake feather boa, and he sat on his desk. "Please, take a seat."

The client agreed and sat down as Liz displayed her warmest face. "Please, forgive us. We were in a brief analysis of counterfeit. We might have to contact the FBI." Then she took the money and walked through the corridor, passing by the bathroom and the kitchen and entered the medium-size extra room they kept to store papers and files. Trying to restrain her excitement, she placed the briefcase on the squared table where she used to have dinner with the Eppes brothers back in the old days – the days when she was clean.

Excited, she couldn't resist the urge to see the bills again. Her dreams would come true, her happiness, life full in Technicolor would be given to her if she grabbed it and use it for greater good. She ran her fingers over the rolls… They were just _perfect._

There were yells coming from the main office. Apparently, the client was determined to show Don how unsatisfied with his job she was. The person she thought was committing fraud against her was apparently clean. _I guess she'll have to get used to wearing that fake boa until she finds someone else to get compensation from…_

When the yells were gone, her attention went back to the money. She could do so many things… Steps getting closer and her boss coming into the room made her react.

"Should I keep this in the safe?" Liz snapped, pointing at the briefcase.

Don took a step forward and held on to the table. "Yeah, please…" Liz didn't miss the way he was looking at her. "Hey… What's going on? You don't look very well."

_Quick excuse. C'mon, you've done it before and you can do it again._ She ran one hand through her hair. "I'm tired, that's all."

"You've been feeling that way lately. These last three months have been strange. I'm worried about you."

No matter how sweet he was, an evasive maneuver was necessary. "I'm all right. I probably just need a vacation."

"Maybe you should take a break from this." He caressed her arm calmly, and she wondered if he could feel her damped skin underneath the shirt.

"Nah," she said, grabbing the briefcase. "What would you do without me? I have to take care of everything here."

Her joke was well received. Don smiled at her like he was proud of her commitment to the job, but the only thing Liz could think about was what his reaction would be when he found out what was really going on with her.

"Now, on the other hand," she continued to change the subject. "I saw you with D.S. Cowboy…"

Don frowned. "You where listening?" When she nodded, he ran a hand over his forehead. "I said yes."

"I know."

"I get the feeling I didn't made the right decision, but I didn't have much time, and the money was there…"

"It's a harmless job. Catching the Vigilante. It could be good for our business… I'll be here to help you," she assured him. "And you don't have to explain anything to me, I understand why you accepted the money."

Don looked broken as he kept his eyes on the briefcase, and Liz had to caress in arm in order to make him relax a bit. He was a man of principles but his professional situation sucked, and desperate situations required desperate choices.

Soon she was entering the big safety box's code while Don's silence overwhelmed her. Once the numbers were into the system, there was a beep. The box opened and she placed the briefcase in there, with some other important items that weren't even close to pay as much as the money D.S. Cowboy has left.

Then the safe was closed. No one would touch the money until Don said so, not even her. No matter how good it smelled.


	4. Uniform Beauty

Series: Poison  
Chapter 4: Uniform Beauty  
Characters/pairings: Amita, Jeff Upchurch, Charlie, Colby, Dwayne, mention of Oswald and Megan.  
Rating: M to be safe.  
Warnings: Sexual topics.  
Summary: The FBI and LAPD visit Leather Street and Oswald's apartment to find the leads that will guide their investigation.  
Betas: The awesome lillyg and the amazing twins_m0m.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or anything related to it.

***

**4 - Uniform Beauty**

With FBI and L.A.P.D. presence, the Leather Street seemed to be pretty well controlled. Amita was used to seeing these kinds of places and working with murderers, hookers, extortion and blackmail, but this time it felt different. The atmosphere just didn't seem right – or maybe it was Charlie's and Lt. Upchurch's presence that disturbed her.

On the way there, Amita did her best to figure out what she was going to do. Since the lieutenant had whispered strange words into Charlie's ear before they left, the urge to know what that was all about managed to obsess her.

However, once at the crime scene, the displayed scenario caught her full attention. It was the source of a limited amount of data, so she had to be careful and assemble as much of it as she could. The lights of the sirens lit every corner. Groups of sex workers – or whatever they wanted to be called – were talking and gossiping. Forensics was collecting traces of evidence while some agents and officers were interrogating possible eye witnesses.

She saw the "Police line, please do not cross" tape but didn't enter the restricted area yet. She noticed that Charlie and the others did the same and she decided to go solo tonight. Or at least that's what she wanted. As soon as she started walking around, a mature guy dressed with tight leather pants started to bother her.

"Wouldn't a uniform beauty like you want a good, kinky shag?"

Annoyed, Amita turned to him and didn't understand why people would dress like that and say such things in the middle of the street. Secrecy was important. Discretion was supposed to be a very important social rule. She started walking over the guy, but he didn't stop as she reached for her gun.

"Ah, you like it hard, huh?" he said, walking backwards. Before his back hit the wall behind him, Amita pushed him against it and placed her gun against his neck, smashing her badge up his nose.

"Listen to me. I'm FBI, you jackass," she introduced herself. The man didn't respond, but he didn't seem to want to flirt anymore. "Do you see the badge or do I have to push it down your throat?"

The silence that followed gave her the answer. She let the guy go and put her gun and badge away. She wasn't in the mood to play when there were secrets hidden all around. Going towards the Vigilante's latest victim, she saw Dwayne knelt beside the body, analyzing it. "What do you have, Dwayne?"

Focused on his work, he signaled the dead woman's chest with his gloved hand. "Samantha Winston. Female, 28, natural brunette. Single shot to the heart, but it's not clean, nor calculated. 9 mm, probably made by a Beretta M9. Forensics says there are no traces of any other prospective murder weapons, but they need to take everything to the lab before being 100% sure."

This was _very_ good. Amita smiled with satisfaction.

"He made a mistake," Charlie's voice said behind her, as he got closer with his own laptop. Apparently, they'd heard the results.

"Yeah, and we got it," Dwayne stated, turning to Amita.

She nodded. "Work on it."

"Sure I will!" He went to talk to Forensics. Amita and Charlie stared at the body.

"We have an anomaly. This guy's always accurate and clean. What was different this time? If we find that out, it should give us a good amount of data," she said, almost excited that things were starting to go well. The right leads were just starting to pop out.

But Charlie frowned. "A good amount of information, yes. Because… that bullet wasn't meant for her."

Amita stopped in her tracks. "Then for who?"

"Oswald Kittner. He was a permanent client of the sex workers in this area. According to the witnesses, he and the victim, Samantha Winston, used to get together about two or three times a week at least."

"Energetic boy, he was," was the only comment Amita could make as she started to walk with Charlie by her side. "Was he here for one of their encounters?"

"Apparently not. He was seen running all the way from Chinatown to this very place, where the criminal shot the woman instead of him."

Upchurch came towards them, writing on a little note book and catching up. "He's renting an apartment a few blocks from here, in Chinatown." He looked up and his eyes landed on Amita, like they were trying to figure her out somehow.

She didn't like that look. However, behind Upchurch, the perfect subject to make himself a distraction was standing against the wall, resting. "Check that out."

Charlie immediately turned around, but Upchurch didn't seem to be very convinced until he saw what had caught Amita's attention. Near them, against the building's wall, there was D.S. Cowboy's favorite boy. He looked quite well – shades, jacket, white t-shirt, old jeans, snickers.

"He protected the body until we arrived. I guess living here and being D.S. Cowboy's right hand has taught him what to do when someone dies…" Upchurch said before cocking his head, inviting the rest to approach the guy. A year ago, D.S. Cowboy had been accused of murder, but no one could ever prove he did it. Amita and everyone else thought they'd gotten rid of the body in a very professional way.

As they got closer to him, the man saw them coming and straightened up. When he took off his shades, his green eyes described a broken but still confident personality.

"Special Agent Amita Ramanujan, and these are Lieutenant Upchurch and Detective Eppes. We've got a few questions for you." She saw how Upchurch checked his note book and found a name.

"Colby Granger, right?"

"Yes, sir," the other man said.

"We understand that you witnessed the shooting that killed Samantha Winston."

"That's right. I was passing by and I heard her talk to a guy. He wasn't here for business, you know. He was running away from something or someone, and the next thing I know, Sam was on the floor with a bullet in her chest. I had to protect her. She was a good woman and a hard worker."

Amita cleared her throat and nodded. "Did you know the guy that was talking to her?"

"Not really. I come here very rarely now. Anyway, the guy was pretty tall and looked almost thirty, dark hair and eyes, dressed like a teenager… I think he carried a skate or something."

"We've got an ID already," Upchurch muttered, taking down notes. He was so very old style. "Did you see the shooter? Any particular marks or physical attributes?"

"Nothing… He was dressed in black and no one could see his face. People say it was the Vigilante. Was he?"

"We're working on it."

Amita analyzed Colby Granger's posture, trying to figure out if he was holding any data. Suddenly she noticed that Charlie was looking right into his eyes, too, but wasn't asking any questions. "How long have you known D.S. Cowboy?" she finally asked.

Colby answered immediately. "Three years… why is that relevant?"

"You're his favorite." Upchurch stated, sending out a message.

"_Used_ to be, that's the key word… Now I'm his friend, I don't work for him anymore."

"Are a gigolo now?"

"What's going on? Why are you asking…?"

Surprising Amita, Charlie finally spoke up. "The Vigilante could be after you. It's not just this episode with that guy and Samantha Winston. There have been several attacks in the Leather Street during the last two weeks. I'm sure you're aware of that."

Granger frowned and finally nodded. "You're right about that, Detective."

Charlie went to stand beside him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to interview Mr. Granger in private."

The idea didn't seem to disturb Colby. For a moment, Amita imagined that there was something going on there, as if the private interview had been previously arranged. Her impression strengthened when Upchurch didn't opposed to Charlie taking care of that particular key witness.

As the two men walked away, she noticed how Granger wiggled his ass for Charlie as he guided the way and how Charlie occasionally looked down at him with eyes full of determination. Sure, Charlie swung both ways, but doing it with someone like Granger? It was too damned dangerous… unless he was doing some kind of weird undercover work.

Upchurch's voice sounded behind her, startling her. "Kittner's apartment. Coming or not?"

Oswald Kittner's apartment door had been obviously forced. As Forensics took care of analyzing the area, Amita and Upchurch researched the dusty and dark interior. They'd all been provided with gloves and the necessary equipment. Now that they had Oswald's picture and file, the lieutenant had decided to use a laptop and was now walking around the main room, collecting evidence.

"This place's a mess," he said, as she walked between piles of papers full of formulas. He leaned to grab something from the floor and showed a baseball bat. "And he likes sports." Then he picked up the ball that went with it. "A lot."

Amita had her eyes on the papers around her. "These numbers… We'll need a better analysis, but they look like baseball mathematical analysis… I've seen things like these before. Real life matches and how to predict the winner."

"We've got a little cheater here who enjoys gambling. Perfect target for the Vigilante, I guess," Upchurch muttered between greeted teeth. He beckoned the desk in the middle of the room. "This is damned empty, but…" As if he was hypnotized by it, he touched one of the edges and his gloved finger got full of dust. "There are the marks of a rectangular object here. The space where it was is clean but the rest of the desk is dirty." He took a look at his laptop. Its size fitted the shape in the desk perfectly. "Maybe the Vigilante took the laptop that was here with him… which is not good news. What could he possibly be looking for? He had the guy, he went after him. Why would he take his laptop?"

"Maybe Oswald took it with him_ before _the Vigilante got here." Amita's words hung in the air. She only got a disturbing look from Upchurch. "In which case, he was a very brave – or maybe stupid - guy. If he took the time to grab his belongings before running away, then he wasn't scared enough..."

"… or what he had in his hard drive was worth his life," Upchurch finished.

"Exactly."

"Maybe a clients' record," Amita imagined. Upchurch grabbed something from a shelf full of big books.

"Look at this," he said. He was holding a picture of a young man with an older woman. They were both at a table, having coffee with pancakes. The breakfast scene looked very homey. "And…" Upchurch flipped the picture and exposed the back side. _Love you no matter what_, it said, and it signed by someone named Megan.

"That's Oswald, but her?" Upchurch entered data into his computer, looking for an ID.

In the meantime, Amita decided to take a look out the window. The view wasn't lovely but she couldn't expect more than that, considering the area. Looking down, she could see the fire stairs and Dwayne Carter looking up.

"Hey, boss!" he yelled. "I've got an update! He ran down the stairs!"

"Track a possible trajectory through Chinatown and to the Leather Street and see if he left anything behind!"

As a response, Dwayne gave her a thumb up. She thought that anyone could have guessed that Oswald had escaped using the fire stairs. It was the only way out, with the Vigilante kicking down the door.

Upchurch was beside her again and he pointed at a plate with old food – a half-eaten burger and a soda – that was on the floor in a corner of the room. Beside it there were pizza boxes and lots of delivery cards. She leaned to explore the leftovers. "Looks like he spent a lot of time here." She picked up the cards. "Pizzas, burgers, sodas, drinks, ice-cream… and a sex shop," she added, raising her eyebrows. "It fits anyway. He used to go to the Leather Street a lot. Maybe he wanted to be sure he always had the necessary supplies."

The lieutenant took a deep breath like he didn't approve her analysis and pointed at the pizza boxes. Then he went towards his laptop. "There," Upchurch interrupted her, pointing at his laptop. "This is the woman in the picture, it's the only person named Megan who is part of Oswald's life. We've got to figure out if she's got something to do with his disappearance."

Amita got closer to the screen. _Megan Reeves, 41, single, worked for Wright Corporation until June 2008 as Human Resources Manager…_ Her train of thoughts was interrupted by the lieutenant, who approached her with no good intentions. From the way he held her gaze, she could tell he didn't like her much. _God knows why. _"Okay, let's assume for a moment that…"

"You assume too many things, Agent Ramanujan. I'm sorry to inform you that we don't work that way. We find evidence and we come to conclusions, we don't jump to them. That just means misleads, and I don't think that's what you want as part of the FBI."

He obviously didn't like her very much. With his eyes fixed on her, he took out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Millie, call Eppes and see if he's done with Granger. Tell him that I need him to interview someone else. Her name is Megan Reeves…"

As he started to walk away, Amita analyzed him and his words. Why wouldn't he just call Charlie, instead of telling Millie to do it? Apparently, he knew that Charlie didn't want to be interrupted, thus he knew what he was doing with Colby Granger.

_And the secrets continue._ A while later, Amita was telling Dwayne that she needed to take care of something personal and that she should be back soon. The Mayor had texted her and asked her to meet him in the same private place they used when they got together to talk about projects related to his political career.

Walking out of the crime scene didn't feel quite right. Upchurch's eyes followed her until she disappeared from the place. On her way to the Mayor's office, Amita told herself that she had to come up with a plan. If Jeff Upchurch didn't trust her as an FBI agent, she would have to pay the consequences.

***


End file.
